


The Three Garridebs

by The_Sassiest_Trixster



Series: Living with a Demon [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angel John Watson, BAMF John, BAMF Sherlock, Demon Mycroft Holmes, Demon Sherlock Holmes, Kitsune Greg Lestrade, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-13 21:52:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15374121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Sassiest_Trixster/pseuds/The_Sassiest_Trixster
Summary: One day, about a month after John and Sherlock had gotten married, John was reading a story to Rosie in the living room when Sherlock emerged from the master bedroom with a long foolscap document in his hand and a twinkle of amusement in his heterochromic eyes.“What have you got there, Sherlock?” John asked, raising an eyebrow at the demon.  Sherlock looked over at him and smirked.“There is a chance for us to make some money” he declared before he placed his hands on his hips.“Have you ever heard the name of Garrideb?” he asked.





	1. New Case

One day, about a month after John and Sherlock had gotten married, John was reading a story to Rosie in the living room when Sherlock emerged from the master bedroom with a long foolscap document in his hand and a twinkle of amusement in his heterochromic eyes.

         “What have you got there, Sherlock?” John asked, raising an eyebrow at the demon.  Sherlock looked over at him and smirked.

         “There is a chance for us to make some money” he declared before he placed his hands on his hips.

         “Have you ever heard the name of Garrideb?” he asked.  John frowned.

         “No, can’t say that I have” he replied while Rosie decided to take the book that John was reading to her and decided to read it herself, since she knew that her fathers were having an important discussion.

         “Well, if you can lay your hand upon a Garrideb, there’s money in it” Sherlock continued.  John’s frowned deepened.

         “Why?” he asked.  Sherlock then walked over to his armchair and sat down, placing the foolscap on the side table next to his chair.

         “Ah, that’s a long story…rather a whimsical one too.  I don’t think in all our explorations of human complexities we have ever come upon anything more singular.  The fellow will be here presently for cross-examination, so I won’t open the matter up till he comes.  But, meanwhile, that’s the name we want” he explained.  John hummed.

         “Should we put Rosie away for the cross-examination or shall we let her stay out here with us?” he asked.  Sherlock hummed as well.

         “I suppose we could keep her out here with us.  She will just have to be a good girl and remain quiet while we question him” he replied.  John nodded.

         “I do like that idea.  Where can we find this man?” he asked.  Sherlock hummed.

         “I believe he’s in the directory, if you wish to look” he replied, waving his hand to summon a telephone book.  John nodded as he reached out and took the book from Sherlock’s hand, flipping through the book, not expecting to find the man, but much to his surprise, he found it.

         “Well, you were right.  He’s definitely here” he replied, turning the book back to Sherlock, who leaned over to read the man’s name.

         _“Garrideb, N.  136 Little Ryder Street, W”_ he read aloud.  He frowned before he shook his head.

         “Unfortunately, darling, this is the man himself.  That is the address upon his letter.  We want another to match him” he explained.  John raised an eyebrow.

         “Another to match him?  What do you mean?” he asked.  Just then, the doorbell rang, so John stood up and walked over to it, opening it and taking the card that the mailman had in his hand.  When he closed the door and walked back into the living room, he looked down at the card and when he saw what was written on it, his eyes widened.

         “Sherlock look at this” he called out, making the demon look up at him.

         “What is it?” he asked.  John handed over the card, making Sherlock narrow his eyes at the words written on it.

         “James Garrideb, Counsellor at Law, Moorville, Kansas, U.S.A” John explained when he noticed that Sherlock wasn’t even really looking at the words.  Sherlock smiled sadly as he looked up at his husband.

         “I am afraid you must make yet another effort, John” he explained.  John rolled his eyes.

         “Now what?” he demanded.  Sherlock smiled as he placed the card down and stood up from his armchair, walking over to stand before his husband. 

         “The gentleman is also in the plot already, though I certainly did not expect to see him this morning.  However, he is in a position to tell us a good deal which we want to know” he stated.  John’s eyes widened.

         “He’s here, already?” he exclaimed.  Sherlock nodded.

         “Just arrived.  However, he will not enter the flat unless invited, so we have time to clean” he explained before he snapped his fingers, ridding the flat of Rosie’s strewn toys, dirty dishes, and other things you would find in a domestic setting.  John blinked before he walked over to Rosie, who was still looking through her book, and knelt before her.

         “Sweetheart” he called out softly, making Rosie look up at him.

         “Yes Daddy?” she replied.  John smiled fondly.

         “We have a client outside the door who will soon be entering our home.  We need you to be a good girl and not make any noise alright?” he asked.  Rosie nodded before she frowned.

         “I go me room?” she asked, in her adorable baby English.  John looked over at Sherlock, who was watching them with fond heterochromic eyes, before shaking his head.

         “No sweetie, you don’t have to go your room.  You can stay out here with me and Papa” he stated, holding out his hand.  Rosie’s face brightened as she closed her book and pushed herself to her feet, walking over to Sherlock and taking his hand.  Sherlock grinned as he picked up his daughter and held her in his arms before looking over at John.

         “Let him in, will you?” he asked.  John nodded and walked over to the door, opening it to reveal a short, powerful man with the round, fresh, clean-shaven face characteristic of so many American men of affairs.  He then motioned for the man to enter, which he did, before closing the door behind him.  He then followed the man into the living room, where Sherlock motioned for him to sit as he and John sat before him, Rosie snuggled in Sherlock’s arms, clutching at her book.  As he sat before the angel and demon, the two supernatural beings studied him.  Like I said before, James Garrideb, Counsellor at Law, was a short, powerful man with the round, fresh, clean-shaven face characteristic of so many American men of affairs.  The general effect was chubby and rather childlike, so that one received the impression of quite a young man with a broad set smile upon his face.  His eyes, John and Sherlock noted, were arresting.  Seldom in any human head had the demon or angel seen a pair that bespoke a more intense inward life; so bright were they, so alert, so responsive to every change of thought.  His accent was American, but was not accompanied by any eccentricity of speech.

         “Mr. Holmes?” James asked, glancing back and forth between John and Sherlock before he smiled as he settled on Sherlock.

         “Ah, yes!  Your pictures are not unlike you, sir, if I may say so.  I believe you have had a letter from my namesake, Mr. Nathan Garrideb, have you not?” he asked.

         “We shall, I fancy, have a good deal to discuss” Sherlock replied, completely ignoring the man’s question as he picked up the foolscap that he had set down earlier and handed it over to John, who looked over it before looking up at James.

         “You are, of course, the Mr. James Garrideb mentioned in this document.  But surely you have been in England some time?” he asked.  James frowned.

         “Why do you say that, Mr…” he started, pausing to wait for John to introduce himself.

         “Watson.  Dr. John Watson” John replied, noting the sudden suspicion in the man’s eyes.

         “Your whole outfit is English” Sherlock interrupted, making James look over at him before forcing out a laugh.

         “I’ve read of your tricks, Mr. Holmes, but I never thought I would be the subject of them.  Where do you read that?” he asked. 

         “The shoulder cut of your coat, the toes of your boots…could anyone doubt it?” John replied, making James look back at him.  The American looked between the demon and angel before smirking.

         “Well, well, I had no idea I was so obvious a Britisher.  But business brought me over here some time ago, and so, as you say, my outfit is nearly all London.  However, I guess your time is of value, and we did not meet to talk about the cut of my socks.  What about getting down to that paper you hold in your hand?” he asked, looking over at Sherlock.  John noted that James was ruffled, his chubby face assuming a far less amiable expression.

         “Patience, Mr. Garrieb, patience!” Sherlock soothed before he raised an eyebrow at him.

         “Why Mr. Nathan Garrideb not come with you?” he asked.

         “Why did he ever drag you into it at all?” James snapped back, startling the Holmes-Watson family.

         “What in thunder had you to do with it?  Here was a bit of professional business between two gentlemen, and one of them must needs call in a detective!  I saw him this morning, and he told me this fool-trick he had played me, and that’s why I am here.  But I feel bad about it, all the same” he continued.  John narrowed his eyes at the man while Sherlock gently rubbed Rosie’s tummy, trying to keep her calm after James had snapped at them.

         “There was no reflection upon you, Mr. Garrideb.  It was simply zeal upon his part to gain your end; an end which is, I understand, equally vital for both of you.  He knew that I had means of getting information, and, therefore, it was very natural that he should apply to me” Sherlock explained.  James’ angry face gradually cleared.

         “Well, that puts it different” he murmured before he sighed.

         “When I went to see him this morning and he told me he had sent to a detective, I just asked for your address and came right away.  I don’t want police butting into a private matter. But if you are content just to help us find the man, there can be no harm in that” he stated. 

         “Well, that is just how it stands” Sherlock replied before he smiled slightly.

         “And now, sir, since you are here, we had best have a clear account from your own lips. Dr. Watson knows nothing of the details” he explained.  James surveyed John with a not too friendly gaze, making the angel bristle in anger.

         “Need he know?” he asked.  Sherlock smirked.

         “He is my husband and we usually work together” he replied.  James pursed his lips before he noticed Rosie in Sherlock’s lap, her blue eyes staring intently at him.

         “What about her?” he asked, pointing to Rosie.

         “She’s three, Mr. Garrieb.  She won’t remember any of this conversation” John growled.  James looked at the three of them before he sighed.

         “Well, there’s no reason it should be kept a secret.  I’ll give you the facts as short as I can make them.  If you came from Kansas I would not need to explain to you who Alexander Hamilton Garrideb was.  He made his money in real estate, and afterwards in the wheat pit at Chicago, but he spent it in buying up as much land as would make one of your counties, lying along the Arkansas River, west of Fort Dodge.  It’s grazing-land and lumber-land and arable-land and mineralized-land, and just every sort of land that brings dollars to the man that owns it” he began.

         “He had no kith nor kin–or, if he had, I never heard of it.  But he took a kind of pride in the queerness of his name.  That was what brought us together.  I was in the law at Topeka, and one day I had a visit from the old man, and he was tickled to death to meet another man with his own name.  It was his pet fad, and he was dead set to find out if there were any more Garridebs in the world.  _“Find me another”,_ is what he said.  I told him I was a busy man and could not spend my life hiking round the world in search of Garridebs.  _“None the less, that is just what you will do if things pan out as I planned them”_ he continued.  I thought he was joking, but there was a powerful lot of meaning in the words, as I was soon to discover” James continued.  He then ran his hand through his hair while John and Sherlock sat and listened, watching the man intently.

         “For he died within a year of saying them, and he left a will behind him.  It was the queerest will that has ever been filed in the State of Kansas.  His property was divided into three parts, and I was to have one on condition that I found two Garridebs who would share the remainder.  It’s five million dollars for each if it is a cent, but we can’t lay a finger on it until we all three stand in a row” James explained.  Sherlock and John nodded, silently ordering James to continue.

         “It was so big a chance that I just let my legal practice slide and I set forth looking for Garridebs.  There is not one in the United States.  I went through it, sir, with a fine-toothed comb and never a Garrideb could I catch.  Then I tried the old country.  Sure enough there was the name in the London telephone directory.  I went after him two days ago and explained the whole matter to him.  But he is a lone man, like myself, with some women relations, but no men.  It says three adult men in the will.  So you see we still have a vacancy, and if you can help to fill it we will be very ready to pay your charges” James finished.  After his story, Sherlock looked over at John and smiled.

         “Well John, I said it was rather whimsical, did I not?” he asked before looking back at James.

          “I should have thought, sir, that your obvious way was to advertise in the agony columns of the papers” he stated.  James sighed.

         “I have done that, Mr. Holmes.  No replies” he answered. 

         "Dear me!  Well, it is certainly a most curious little problem.  I may take a glance at it in my leisure.  By the way, it is curious that you should have come from Topeka.  I used to have a correspondent – he’s dead now – old Dr. Lysander Starr, who was mayor in 1890” Sherlock explained.  James brightened.

         “Good old Dr. Starr!” he exclaimed before he nodded.

         “His name is still honored.  Well, Mr. Holmes, I suppose all we can do is to report to you and let you know how we progress.  I reckon you will hear within a day or two” he stated, standing to his feet and bowing to the demon before turning on his heels and headed to the front door, opening it and closing it behind him as he stepped out.  After he left, John got up from where he was sitting and walked over to the door, locking it before heading towards the kitchen.

         “Tea, Sherlock?” he called out.  When Sherlock didn’t answer, he frowned and poked his head out of the kitchen to see Sherlock running his fingers through Rosie’s hair, a small smile on his face. 

         “Alright, what’s with the smile?” John asked as he stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room, standing before Sherlock with his hands on his hips.

         “I’m wondering, John.  Just wondering” Sherlock replied.  John raising an eyebrow.

         “About what?” he asked.  Sherlock chuckled as he continued to pet Rosie’s head, making the little girl act like a cat as she nearly purred in content.

         “I was wondering, John, what on earth could be the object of this man in telling us such a rigmarole of lies” he explained, looking up at his husband.  John frowned as he walked over to his armchair and sat down in front of Sherlock.

         “What do you mean?” he asked.  Sherlock sighed.

         “I nearly asked him so – for there are times when a brutal frontal attack is the best policy – but I judged it better to let him think he had fooled us.  Here is a man with an English coat frayed at the elbow and trousers bagged at the knee with a year’s wear, and yet by this document and by his own account he is a provincial American lately landed in London.  There have been no advertisements in the agony columns.  You know that I miss nothing there.  They are my favorite covert for putting up a bird, and I would never have overlooked such a cock pheasant as that.  I never knew a Dr. Lysander Starr, of Topeka” he continued.  John let out a huff of a laugh and smirked.

         “No shit, Sherlock” he teased.  Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him before he smirked as well.

         “Touch him where you would he was false.  I think the fellow is really an American, but he has worn his accent smooth with years of London.  What is his game, then, and what motive lies behind this preposterous search for Garridebs?  It’s worth our attention, for, granting that the man is a rascal, he is certainly a complex and ingenious one.  We must now find out if our other correspondent is a fraud also” he declared as he waved his hand, summoning his phone.

         “I’m going to give him a ring” he stated.  John nodded as he stood up and walked over to the demon, taking Rosie out of his lap.

         “Come Rosie, let’s get you some juice, okay?” he murmured as he walked into the kitchen, placing Rosie carefully on the counter next to the fridge, placing one hand on her knee while he opened the fridge with his other hand, making sure that she would go tumbling off the counter as he tried to get her something to drink.  After he made her a sippy cup full of apple juice, he lifted her off the counter and carried her back into the living as he heard Sherlock clipped conversation with a Mr. Nathan Garrideb.

         “Yes, he has been here.  I understand that you don’t know him…How long?...Only two days!...Yes, yes, of course, it is a most captivating prospect.  Will you be at home this evening?  I suppose your namesake will not be there?...Very good, we will come then, for I would rather have a chat without him…Dr. Watson will come with me…I understand from your note that you did not go out often…Well, we shall be round about six.  You need not mention it to the American lawyer…Very good.  Good-bye!” he bid before he hung up and looked up at John.

         “I take it we’re leaving Rosie in the care of Mycroft and Lestrade this evening?” John asked, raising an eyebrow at his husband.  Sherlock inclined his head in agreement.

         “Indeed” he replied.  John sighed and pulled out his phone, about to hit Mycroft’s number, when a portal appeared behind him and the elder demon stepped out.

         “Be careful Sherlock.  You too John.  There’s something off about this man” he murmured as he walked over to John and plucked Rosie out of the angel’s arms.  Rosie smiled and threw her arms around her uncle, hugging him tightly.  Mycroft smiled and placed a kiss on Rosie’s forehead before he threw out hand, opening the portal once more.  He then stepped through, leaving Sherlock and John alone in the flat.

         “Should we heed his premonition?” John asked, looking over at Sherlock as he walked over to the coat hanger to grab his great coat.  Sherlock hummed before he looked back at John.

         “He’s usually never wrong so…let’s be very cautious going to this man’s house” he replied as he took John’s jacket off one of the hangers.  John nodded and walked over the demon, grabbing his jacket from his hand before he walked over to the door, opening it and waiting for Sherlock to exit the flat before he shut the door and locked it behind them before Sherlock hailed a cab.


	2. A Mr. Nathan Garrideb

After they got into the cab and Sherlock told the driver where they were going, John scooted over so that he was next to Sherlock before he rested his head on the demon’s shoulder, shutting his eyes.  Sherlock looked down at his husband with a raised eyebrow but when he heard John softly snoring, he just smiled and rested his head on top of John’s, shutting his eyes as well. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Once they arrived at their destination and Sherlock paid the cab, he and John walked towards a large, old-fashioned, Early Georgian edifice where Mr. Garrideb was staying.  It was twilight of a lovely spring evening and the street that they were walking down, Little Ryder Street, one of the smaller offshoots from the Edgware Road, within a stone-cast of old Tyburn Tree of evil memory, looked golden and wonderful in the slanting rays of the setting sun.  The house that the demon and angel were heading towards was, like I said, a large, old-fashioned, Early Georgian edifice, with a flat brick face broken only by two deep bay windows on the ground floor.  It was on the ground floor were Mr. Garrideb resided and the low windows proved to be the front of the huge room in which he spent his waking hours. 

         “Up some years” Sherlock noted as he pointed to the discolored surface of the small brass plate that bore the curious name.

         “It’s his real name, anyhow, and that is something to note” John murmured as he studied the house.  It had a common stair, and there were a number of names painted in the hall, some indicating offices and some private chambers.  Sherlock then motioned for John to follow as they headed over to Mr. Garrideb’s door and knocked.  The man then opened the door and smiled apologetically.

         “Ah, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson.  I apologize, but the woman who’s usually in charge left at four o’clock” he explained as he motioned for the demon and angel to enter into his home.  As Sherlock and John walked inside, both men noted to memory that Mr. Nathan Garrideb was a very tall, loose-jointed, round-backed person who was gaunt and bald around sixty-odd years old.  He had a cadaverous face, with the dull dead skin of a man to whom exercise was unknown.  Large round spectacles and a small projecting goat’s beard combined with his stooping attitude to give him an expression of peering curiosity. 

         “The room is just as curious as Mr. Garrideb” Sherlock whispered to John, who nodded.

         “Looks like a small museum” he agreed as he and Sherlock looked around.  The room was both broad and deep, with cupboards and cabinets all round, crowded with specimens, geological and anatomical.  Cases of butterflies and moths flanked each side of the entrance.  A large table in the center was littered with all sorts of debris, while the tall brass tube of a powerful microscope bristled up among them.  As they looked around, both men were surprised at the universality of the man’s interests.  In one part of the room, there was a case of ancient coins, in another part there was a cabinet of flint instruments. Behind his central table was a large cupboard of fossil bones.  Above was a line of plaster skulls with such names as “Neanderthal,” “Heidelberg,” “Cro-Magnon” printed beneath them.  It was clear that he was a student of many subjects.  After John and Sherlock had a look around, they turned to look at Mr. Garrideb, who had a piece of chamois leather in his right hand with which he was polishing a coin.

         “Syracusan – of the best period” he explained, holding up the coin.

         “They degenerated greatly towards the end.  At their best I hold them supreme, though some prefer the Alexandrian school.  You will find a chair here, Mr. Holmes” he continued, motioning to a chair covered in bones.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the seat and a quick look of disgust crossed his face, but not quick enough for Mr. Garrideb noticed it.

         “Oh dear, let me clear those bones for you” he offered as he placed the coin down to walk over to the chair and pick the bones up gently before placing them down somewhere else.  He then turned and looked at John.

         “Ah, Dr. Watson, if you would have the goodness to put the Japanese vase to one side” he asked.  John nodded and moved the Japanese vase that he was speaking of off to the side before he walked over to the chair that Sherlock was sitting in and stood behind him, placing his hands on the back of the chair.

         “You see round me my little interests in life.  My doctor lectures me about never going out, but why should I go out when I have so much to hold me here?  I can assure you that the adequate cataloguing of one of those cabinets would take me three good months” Mr. Garrideb explained as he stood before the angel and demon.  Sherlock was silent for a moment as he studied the man before him.

         “Are you telling me that you _never_ go out?” he asked.

         “Now and again I drive down to Sotheby’s or Christie’s.  Otherwise I very seldom leave my room.  I am not too strong, and my researches are very absorbing.  But you can imagine, Mr. Holmes, what a terrific shock – pleasant but terrific – it was for me when I heard of this unparalleled good fortune” Mr. Garrideb replied before he smiled slightly.

         “It only needs one more Garrideb to complete the matter, and surely we can find one.  I had a brother, but he is dead, and female relatives are disqualified.  But there must surely be others in the world.  I had heard that you handled strange cases, and that was why I sent to you.  Of course, this American gentleman is quite right, and I should have taken his advice first, but I acted for the best” he explained.  Sherlock nodded.

         “I think you acted very wisely indeed” he replied.

         “But are you really anxious to acquire an estate in America?” John asked, raising an eyebrow at Mr. Garrideb.  Mr. Garrideb shook his head.

         “Certainly not, doctor.  Nothing would induce me to leave my collection.  But this gentleman has assured me that he will buy me out as soon as we have established our claim.  Five million dollars was the sum named.  There are a dozen specimens in the market at the present moment which fill gaps in my collection, and which I am unable to purchase for want of a few hundred pounds.  Just think what I could do with five million dollars.  Why, I have the nucleus of a national collection.  I shall be the Hans Sloane of my age” he explained, eyes gleaming behind his great spectacles.  It was very clear to both Sherlock and John that no pains would be spared by Mr. Nathan Garrideb in finding a namesake.

         “I merely called to make your acquaintance, and there is no reason why I should interrupt your studies.  I prefer to establish personal touch with those with whom I do business. There are few questions I need ask, for I have your very clear narrative in my pocket, and I filled up the blanks when this American gentleman called.  I understand that up to this week you were unaware of his existence” Sherlock stated.

         “Yes, he called last Tuesday” Mr. Garrideb stated.

         “Did he tell you of our interview to-day?” Sherlock asked.

         “Yes, he came straight back to me.  He had been very angry” Mr. Garrideb replied.

         “Why should he be angry?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.

         “He seemed to think it was some reflection on his honor.  But he was quite cheerful again when he returned” Mr. Garrideb explained.

         “Did he suggest any course of action?” Sherlock asked.

         “No, sir, he did not” Mr. Garrideb replied.

         “Has he had, or asked for, any money from you?” John inquired.  Mr. Garrideb’s eyes widened.

         “No, sir, never!” he exclaimed.

         “You see no possible object he has in view?” Sherlock questioned.  Mr. Garrideb shook his head.

         “None, except what he states” he answered.

         “Did you tell him of our telephone appointment?” John asked.  Mr. Garrideb nodded.

         “Yes, sir, I did” he replied.  Sherlock went silent for a moment and John could tell that he was puzzled, which he found odd.

         “Have you any articles of great value in your collection?” Sherlock asked finally.

         “No, sir.  I am not a rich man.  It is a good collection, but not a very valuable one” Mr. Garrideb replied.

         “You have no fear of burglars?” John asked.

         “Not the least” Mr. Garrideb replied.

         “How long have you been in these rooms?” Sherlock asked.

         “Nearly five years” Mr. Garrideb answered.  Before Sherlock could ask another question, he was interrupted by an imperative knocking at the door.  No sooner had Mr. Garrideb walked over to the door and opened it, James Garridebs, the American lawyer, burst excitedly into the room. 

         “Here you are!” he cried, waving a paper over his head.

         “I thought I should be in time to get you.  Mr. Nathan Garrideb, my congratulations!  You are a rich man, sir.  Our business is happily finished and all is well” he declared before he looked over at Sherlock and John.

         “As to you, Mr. Holmes, we can only say we are sorry if we have given you any useless trouble” he finished, smiling apologetically at the demon and angel.  He then walked over to Mr. Garrideb and handed him the paper, who stood staring at a marked advertisement.  Sherlock and John then stood up and walked over to read the advertisement over Mr. Garrideb’s shoulder.  The advertisement read:

 

HOWARD GARRIDEB

CONSTRUCTOR OF AGRICULTURAL MACHINERY

Binders, reapers, steam and hand plows, drills, harrows, farmers’ carts, buckboards, and all other appliances.

Estimates for Artesian Wells

Apply Grosvenor Buildings, Aston

 

         “Glorious!” Mr. Garrideb gasped.

         “That makes our third man.  I had opened up inquiries in Birmingham and my agent there has sent me this advertisement from a local paper.  We must hustle and put the thing through.  I have written to this man and told him that you will see him in his office to-morrow afternoon at four o’clock” James stated.

         “You want  _me_  to see him?” Mr. Garrideb exclaimed.  James rolled his eyes before he looked over at Shelrock.

         “What do you say, Mr. Holmes?  Don’t you think it would be wiser?  Here am I, a wandering American with a wonderful tale.  Why should he believe what I tell him?  But you are a Britisher with solid references, and he is bound to take notice of what you say.  I would go with you if you wished, but I have a very busy day to-morrow, and I could always follow you if you are in any trouble” he offered. 

         “Well, I have not made such a journey for years” Mr. Garrideb explained.

         “It is nothing, Mr. Garrideb.  I have figured out our connections.  You leave at twelve and should be there soon after two.  Then you can be back the same night.  All you have to do is to see this man, explain the matter, and get an affidavit of his existence” James explained before he huffed.

         “By the Lord!  Considering I’ve come all the way from the center of America, it is surely little enough if you go a hundred miles in order to put this matter through” he added hotly.  Sherlock nodded slightly.

         “Quite so.  I think what this gentleman says is very true” he agreed.  Mr. Garrideb shrugged his shoulders with a disconsolate air.

         “Well, if you insist I should go…” he murmured before he sighed.

         “It is certainly hard for me to refuse you anything, considering the glory of hope that you have brought into my life” he declared.

         “Then that is agreed!” Sherlock exclaimed before he looked over at James.

         “And no doubt you will let me have a report as soon as you can” he ordered.  James nodded.

         “I’ll see to that” he replied before he looked at his watch.

         “Well, I’ll have to get on. I’ll call to-morrow, Mr. Nathan, and see you off to Birmingham. Coming my way, Mr. Holmes?” he asked, looking up at the demon.  When Sherlock shook his head, James nodded.

         “Well, then, good-bye, and we may have good news for you to-morrow night” he declared before he turned on his heels and walked out of the room.  Once he was gone, John looked over at Sherlock and noticed that his face had cleared after James had left the room and the thoughtful perplexity had vanished.

         “I wish I could look over your collection, Mr. Garrideb” Sherlock mused before he looked over at Mr. Garrideb.

         “In my profession all sorts of odd knowledge comes useful, and this room of yours is a storehouse of it” he explained.  Mr. Garrideb shone with pleasure and his eyes gleamed from behind his big glasses.

         “I had always heard, sir, that you were a very intelligent man” Sherlock continued and John wondered what he was playing at.

         “I could take you round now if you have the time” Mr. Garrideb offered.  Sherlock shook his head.

         “Unfortunately, I have not.  But these specimens are so well labelled and classified that they hardly need your personal explanation.  If I should be able to look in to-morrow, I presume that there would be no objection to my glancing over them?” he asked.  Mr. Garrideb shook his head.

         “None at all.  You are most welcome.  The place will, of course, be shut up, but Mrs. Saunders is in the basement up to four o’clock and would let you in with her key” he explained.  Sherlock nodded.

         “Well, I happen to be clear to-morrow afternoon.  If you would say a word to Mrs. Saunders it would be quite in order.  By the way, who is your house-agent?” he asked.  John frowned and Mr. Garrideb looked amazed by the sudden question.

         “Holloway and Steele, in the Edgware Road.  But why?” he asked.  Sherlock smiled.

         “I am a bit of an archaeologist myself when it comes to houses.  I was wondering if this was Queen Anne or Georgian” he explained.

         “Georgian, beyond doubt” Mr. Garrideb replied.  Sherlock hummed.

         “Really.  I should have thought a little earlier.  However, it is easily ascertained.  Well, good-bye, Mr. Garrideb, and may you have every success in your Birmingham journey” he wished before he turned and walked out of the room, John following behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	3. Sherlock and John vs. Killer Evans

After leaving Mr. Garrideb’s house, Sherlock and John walked to the house-agent, which was close by, but they found that it was closed for the day so they hailed a cab and headed back to Baker Street and John’s flat.  When they arrived home, Mycroft was waiting in the living room, Rosie asleep in his arms.

         “Gregory and I have already given her a bath and fed her, so all you need to do is put her to bed” the elder demon stated as John and Sherlock walked into the living room.

         “Thank you Mycroft.  Sorry to leave her with you all the time” John apologized as he walked over to the man and took his daughter out of his arms.  Mycroft smiled and shook his head.

         “It’s not a problem, John.  Gregory and I love having Rosie over” he replied.  Sherlock rolled his eyes fondly.

         “Because you like to spoil her” he teased.  Mycroft shrugged.

         “She is my only niece, of course I’m going to spoil her” he replied before he cleared his throat.

         “Well, I must be off.  Good evening to you both” he bid before he threw out his hand, opening a portal before walking through it, heading home.  John smiled slightly before he turned on his heels and headed to Rosie’s bedroom, placing her down in her crib, tucking her in before heading back out to where Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, hands in a prayer position by his mouth.

         “Do you want something small to eat?  We haven’t eaten basically all day” he stated.  Sherlock looked up at him and shook his head.

         “Not hungry” he murmured.  John rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen, first making two cups of tea before making two plates of beans on toast.  Once he made the beans on toast and cups of tea, he took one plate and one cup out to Sherlock, placing the tea cup on the side table before placing the plate in the demon’s lap.  Sherlock looked up at him in shock and he smirked.

         “Can’t have you passing out on me” he stated before he walked back into the kitchen and grabbed his plate and cup, walking back out to his armchair.  He then sat down and began to eat, glancing up every so often to make sure that Sherlock was eating, which he was, thankfully.  After they had eaten and drunk their tea, Sherlock cleared his throat.

         “Our little problem draws to a close” he declared. 

         “No doubt you have outlined the solution in your own mind” John replied.

         “I can make neither head nor tail of it.  The head is surely clear enough and the tail we should see tomorrow.  Did you notice nothing curious about that advertisement?” Sherlock asked, looking at his husband.  John hummed before he nodded.

         “I saw that the word ‘plough’ was misspelt” he replied.  Sherlock beamed.

         “Oh, you did notice that, did you?  Come, John, you improve all the time.  Yes, it was bad English but good American.  The printer had set it up as received.  Then the buckboards. That is American also.  And artesian wells are commoner with them than with us.  It was a typical American advertisement, but purporting to be from an English firm.  What do you make of that?” he asked.  John sighed.

         “I can only suppose that this American lawyer put it in himself.  What his object was I fail to understand” he replied.

         “Well, there are alternative explanations.  Anyhow, he wanted to get this good old fossil up to Birmingham.  That is very clear.  I might have told him that he was clearly going on a wild-goose chase, but, on second thoughts, it seemed better to clear the stage by letting him go.  Tomorrow…well, tomorrow will speak for itself” he declared before he stood up and walked over to John, holding out his hand.  John smiled and took it as Sherlock helped him out of his seat.  The two men then took their dishes to the kitchen and washed them, placing them on the rack to dry before heading to the master bedroom to get ready for bed.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The next morning, Sherlock had gotten up early, much earlier before John and Rosie, and decided to head out to do who knows what.  John woke up a little while afterwards, noticing that his husband was gone.  He didn’t think anything of it, of course, because he knew Sherlock was probably just working on a case, so he didn’t have any reason to panic.  He then got up and out of bed, getting ready for the day before heading into Rosie’s bedroom to wake her up and get her ready for the day as well.  Once they were both up, John went into the kitchen and made them both a simple breakfast and after they had eaten and John had cleaned Rosie up, they went into the living room to have a little daddy-daughter time.  They first played with Rosie’s stuffed animals, then with Sherlock’s skull (John found that was one of Rosie’s favorite toys and she was very careful with it because she knew how important it was to Sherlock), and then after a while, John decided to read some stories because Rosie was getting bored of playing with her toys and the skull.  As he was reading a simple story that Sherlock would probably scold him about later because he always complained that John was softening their daughter’s mind with silly stories when he should be reading her like medical journal entries and other things that John was sure would go completely over Rosie’s head, Sherlock suddenly appeared in the flat out of nowhere, a grave look on his face.  John noticed the look immediately.

         “Sherlock?  What’s the matter?” he asked.  Sherlock sighed as he walked over to his chair, sitting down.

         “This is a more serious matter than I had expected.  It is fair to tell you so, though I know it will only be an additional reason to you for running your head into danger. I should know my John by now. But there is danger, and you should know it” he muttered.  John raised an eyebrow as he put the book down and crossed his arms.

         “Well, it is not the first we have shared, Sherlock.  I hope it may not be the last.  What is the particular danger this time?” he asked, smiling slightly.

         “We are up against a very hard case.  I have identified Mr. James Garrideb, Counsellor at Law.  He is none other than ‘Killer’ Evans, of sinister and murderous reputation” Sherlock replied.  John blinked.

         “I’m afraid I don’t know who that is” he replied.

         “Ah, it is not part of your profession to carry about a portable Newgate Calendar in your memory.  I went down to the Yard to see Lestrade this morning.  There may be an occasional want of imaginative intuition down there, but they lead the world for thoroughness and method.  I had an idea that we might get on the track of our American friend in their records.  Sure enough, I found his chubby face smiling up at me from the rogues’ portrait gallery. ‘James Winter, alias Morecroft, alias Killer Evans,’ was the inscription below” he explained as he pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket.

         “I scribbled down a few points from his dossier: Aged forty-four.  Native of Chicago. Known to have shot three men in the States.  Escaped from penitentiary through political influence.  Came to London in 1893.  Shot a man over cards in a night-club in the Waterloo Road in January, 1895.  Man died, but he was shown to have been the aggressor in the row.  Dead man was identified as Rodger Prescott, famous as forger and coiner in Chicago.  Killer Evans released in 1901.  Has been under police supervision since, but so far as known has led an honest life.  Very dangerous man, usually carries arms and is prepared to use them.  That is our bird, John–a sporting bird, as you must admit” he continued.  John sighed as he stroked Rosie’s hair as she leaned against him.

         “But what is his game?” he asked.  Sherlock smirked slightly, looking a little more like his normal devilish self.

         “Well, it begins to define itself.  I have been to the house-agent’s.  Our client, as he told us, has been there five years.  It was unlet for a year before then.  The previous tenant was a gentleman at large named Waldron.  Waldron’s appearance was well remembered at the office. He had suddenly vanished and nothing more been heard of him.  He was a tall, bearded man with very dark features.  Now, Prescott, the man whom Killer Evans had shot, was, according to Scotland Yard, a tall, dark man with a beard.  As a working hypothesis, I think we may take it that Prescott, the American criminal, used to live in the very room which our innocent friend now devotes to his museum.  So at last we get a link, you see” he explained.

         “And the next link?” John asked as Rosie snuggled deeper against him.

         “Well, we must go now and look for that” Sherlock replied as he waved his hand and summoned John’s Sig-Sauer P226R, handing it to his husband.

         “Why the hell are you giving this to me?!” John exclaimed.  Sherlock smiled.

         “Because, my dear husband, if our Wild West friend tries to live up to his nickname, we must be ready for him” he explained before he clapped his hands. 

         “I’ll give you an hour to get Rosie ready for her nap and then contact Lestrade or Mycroft to watch her before we head out on our Ryder Street adventure” he declared.  John sighed and made sure the safety was on his gun before he placed it on the side table and picked Rosie up.

         “Come on darling, let’s put you down for a nap” he murmured.  Rosie muttered some baby nonsense, making John chuckle as he walked into her bedroom, placing her down in her crib.  Once he tucked her in, he called Mycroft and was surprised when he didn’t show up in the girl’s bedroom.

         _“Terribly sorry John, but I am out of the country right now on business.  While I would love to take Rosie, what I am doing is far too dangerous for a toddler, so I will sadly have to decline”_ Mycroft stated over the phone.  John smiled sadly and shook his head, even though he knew the elder demon couldn’t see it.

         “That’s alright, Mycroft, don’t worry about it.  Do you think Lestrade would be able to take her, just for a little while?” he asked.

         _“Probably not, unfortunately.  He’s out on a drug bust in a not-so-very nice part of London and I do not know when he will be back.  Have you tried Molly?”_ Mycroft asked.  John sighed.

         “No, I didn’t even think of her.  I’ll give her a ring.  Thank you Mycroft, sorry to bother you” he apologized.

         _“Do not apologize John, it is I who should be apologizing.  I wish I could help but you know how these things are”_ Mycroft explained.  John chuckled.

         “I know Mycroft, you’re basically the British Government.  Don’t worry about it.  Be safe now” he commanded before he hung up.  He then called Molly and asked her if she could watch Rosie for a few hours but her response was the same as Mycroft’s.

         _“Sorry John, I’m absolutely swamped with bodies right now and I have no one to help me so I’ve got to do them all myself”_ Molly explained.

         “Don’t worry about it Molly, I know how busy you are, I just thought I would try” John replied.

         _“Sorry John”_ Molly apologized before she hung up.  John sighed and placed his phone back in his pocket before he walked out of Rosie’s bedroom into the living room to talk to Sherlock.

         “I know you’re probably not going to be happy about this, but we have to bring Rosie along” he stated as he stepped into the living room.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

         “You know I have no problem ever with bringing Rosie along, John, you know this.  You are the one who usually is more hesitant to let her come along” he replied.  John huffed out a laugh.

         “You’re right, I am.  Hopefully whatever we’re doing isn’t too dangerous” he muttered.  Sherlock smiled as he stood to his feet and walked over to the angel, standing before him.

         “It shouldn’t be” he murmured before leaning down to place a kiss on John’s hair.  He then took the man’s hand and led him to the master bedroom.

         “Come now, we should rest too before we head out” he stated.  John nodded as the two of them climbed into bed and curled into one another, shutting their eyes and resting.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

After John, Sherlock, and Rosie had their nap, John carried Rosie in his arms as he and Sherlock took a cab to Mr. Nathan Garrideb’s curious apartment.  After they got out of the car, they headed towards the apartment where the caretaker, Mrs. Saunders, was about to leave but when Sherlock explained that they were there to see Mr. Garrideb, she had no hesitation about letting them in, since the door was shut with a spring lock and because Sherlock promised that all would be well when they left.  Shortly after she left, John, with Rosie in his arms, and Sherlock were alone in the lower floor of the house.  Sherlock then made a rapid examination of the premise and noticed a cupboard in the dark corner that stood out a little from the wall.

         “Over there, John” he whispered, motioning for John to follow him as he walked over to the cupboard and hid behind it.  John nodded and quickly following after him, motioning down to Rosie to remain quiet with a finger up to his lips.  Once they were hiding, Sherlock turned towards John.

         “He wanted to get our amiable friend out of his room; that is very clear, and, as the collector never went out, it took some planning to do it.  The whole of this Garrideb invention was apparently for no other end.  I must say John that there is a certain devilish ingenuity about it, even if the queer name of the tenant did give him an opening which he could hardly have expected.  He wove his plot with remarkable cunning” he murmured.

         “But what did he want?” John whispered back.

         “Well, that is what we are here to find out.  It has nothing whatever to do with our client, so far as I can read the situation.  It is something connected with the man he murdered; the man who may have been his confederate in crime.  There is some guilty secret in the room.  That is how I read it.  At first I thought our friend might have something in his collection more valuable than he knew – something worth the attention of a big criminal.  But the fact that Rodger Prescott of evil memory inhabited these rooms points to some deeper reason.  Well, now all we can do is wait and see what happens” Sherlock answered before he turned back to watch the museum like area.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

It did not take for something to indeed happen.  As the demon and angel crouched in the shadows, they heard the outer door suddenly open and shut before the sound of a sharp metallic snap of a key was heard.  They watched as James entered the room, silently closing the door behind him, taking a sharp glance around the room to see that was all safe as he did so, before throwing off his overcoat and walking up to the central table with the brisk manner of one who knew exactly what he had to do and how to do it.  He then pushed the table to one side, tore up the square of carpet on which it rested, rolled it back completely, then drew a jimmy from his inside pocket before kneeling down and working vigorously at the floor.  From where they were hiding, Sherlock and John heard the sound of sliding boards and an instant later, a square had opened in the planks.  James, otherwise known as Killer Evans, then pulled out a matchbook, struck a match, lit a stump of a candle, and vanished from the men’s view.  Once he was out of sight, Sherlock looked over at John, a twinkle in his eye.  John nodded and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out his gun before clutching Rosie tightly to him.  The two men then moved out from where they were hiding and headed towards the trap door.  They tried to move as gently and as quietly as possible, however the old floor must have creaked underneath their feet for James’ head, peering anxiously round, emerged suddenly from the open space, making John pull out his gun and point it at him while Sherlock summoned a spear of ash and sulfur, pointing it at James as well.  James’ gaze turned upon them with a glare of baffled rage which gradually softened into a rather shamefaced grin when he realized that he had a gun and spear pointed at him.

         “Well, well!” he exclaimed as he scrambled to the surface and looked at Sherlock.

         “I guess you have been one too many for me, Mr. Holmes.  Saw through my game, I suppose, and played me for a sucker from the first.  Well, sir, I hand it to you; you have me beat and –” he started before he whisked out a revolver from his breast and fired two shots, one at John and one at Sherlock.  Sherlock dodged his bullet and John saw his heading towards him so he quickly turned his body, only to let out a gasp of pain as a sudden hot sear spread over his arm, as if someone had pressed a red-hot iron into it.  There was then another shriek of pain, except this time it came from Rosie, making Sherlock look over at both of them, heterochromic eyes with horror, before he looked back at James, his eyes now black.  He then took the spear and crashed it into the man’s head, sending the man sprawling to the floor before he dropped the spear and ran over to John, looking him up and down.

         “John, John are you hurt?!” he demanded as he reached out and grabbed the angel by his biceps, making him cry out in pain.  Sherlock’s black eyes were full of fear as he led John over to a chair and sat him down.

         “Show me John.  What happen?” he demanded.  John motioned to his right bicep, the blood soaked one, and Sherlock gritted his teeth.

         “It just grazed me, Sherlock.  I’m alright.  It stings like a bitch but I’m alright” the angel murmured before his eyes widened and he looked down at Rosie, whose face was buried in his chest.

         “Rosie?  Are you okay sweetheart?” he whispered, remembering that he heard her scream as well.

         “Back hurts” she whimpered, making John and Sherlock look at one another before Sherlock gently pried John’s hands away from where they were around Rosie to see that the bullet that had grazed John’s bicep had somehow also grazed her back, causing blood to trail down her back.

         “Oh darling” Sherlock murmured before he gently placed a hand on her back, making her whine in pain as she buried her face deeper into John’s chest.  John’s heart broke as he leaned down and pressed his lips into her soft blonde hair, whispering words of encouragement and apologies, saying that he knew it hurt and that the pain would be gone soon.  When Sherlock finally pulled his hand away, his palm was covered in blood but Rosie’s back was bullet graze free, as if it had never happened.  He smiled in relief before he looked up at John, who was looking at him with blue eyes full of tears.

         “Shall I heal you as well?” he asked.  John shook his head and placed his left hand on top of his bicep while holding Rosie with his other hand, shutting his eyes.  Within a moment, John pulled his hand away and Sherlock could see through the material of his shirt that his bicep was completely healed. 

         “I’m alright Sherlock.  We’re both alright” he murmured, glancing down at Rosie, who still had her face buried in his chest.  Sherlock smiled and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to John’s lips before standing to his feet and turning to face Killer Evans, unfurling his large black wings from his back.

         “You are very lucky that my husband and daughter are alive, for if you killed them, you would not have made it out of this room alive or in one piece.  Now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?” he growled.  Killer Evans said nothing, he just sat and glared.  Sherlock let out a huff and curled his wings back against his back as he rolled his eyes before turning back to John, who smiled up at him.  The demon then held out a hand, helping John to his feet before they both walked over to the secret cellar that had been disclosed by the secret flap and looked down.  It was still illuminated by the candle which Evans had taken down with him and Sherlock and John’s eyes fell upon a mass of rusted machinery, great rolls of paper, a litter of bottles, and, neatly arranged upon a small table, a number of neat little bundles.

         “A printing press – a counterfeiter’s outfit” Sherlock whispered.

         “Yes, sir” Evans agreed as he staggered slowly to his feet before sinking into the chair that John previously occupied.

         “The greatest counterfeiter London ever saw.  That’s Prescott’s machine, and those bundles on the table are two thousand of Prescott’s notes worth a hundred each and fit to pass anywhere.  Help yourselves, gentlemen.  Call it a deal and let me beat it” he continued, making Sherlock laugh.

         “We don’t do things like that, Mr. Evans.  There is no bolt-hole for you in this country. You shot this man Prescott, did you not?” he asked.

         “Yes, sir, and got five years for it, though it was he who pulled on me.  Five years – when I should have had a medal the size of a soup plate.  No living man could tell a Prescott from a Bank of England, and if I hadn’t put him out he would have flooded London with them.  I was the only one in the world who knew where he made them.  Can you wonder that I wanted to get to the place?  And can you wonder that when I found this crazy boob of a bug-hunter with the queer name squatting right on the top of it, and never quitting his room, I had to do the best I could to shift him?  Maybe I would have been wiser if I had put him away.  It would have been easy enough, but I’m a soft-hearted guy that can’t begin shooting unless the other man has a gun also.  But say, Mr. Holmes, what have I done wrong, anyhow?  I’ve not used this plant.  I’ve not hurt this old stiff.  Where do you get me?” James replied.

         “Only attempted murder, so far as I can see” Sherlock replied.

         “But that’s not our job.  They take that at the next stage.  What we wanted at present was just your sweet self.  Please give the Yard a call, John.  It won’t be entirely unexpected” he continued, looking over at the angel.  John nodded and pulled out his phone, giving Lestrade a ring.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

After Evans was taking into custody by the other officers, Lestrade walked over to Sherlock and John, who were still at the scene to make sure that Evans was properly taken away.  Not that they didn’t trust Lestrade and his men, they just wanted to make sure that Evans didn’t escape. 

         “Thank God you two found Prescott’s outfit” he breathed.  John and Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

         “What do you mean, Greg?” John asked.

         “Well, we knew Prescott’s counterfeiting business existed but after he died, we’ve never been able to find it” Lestrade explained.  Sherlock smirked.

         “But thanks to our American friend, you’ve found it” he declared.  Lestrade nodded, smiling slightly.

         “Indeed.  Did everything go the way you planned?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the two men.  John and Sherlock shared a look before they smiled.

         “Yes, Inspector, I’d say everything went the way we planned” Sherlock replied, not telling Lestrade about how John and Rosie both had gotten grazed with a bullet.  Lestrade looked between the demon and angel, not believing the story, but he was nice enough to not question it so he just let it go.

         “Well, I must be off.  I’ll drop this piece of scum off at the Yard and then head home.  Get some rest now, understand?” he ordered, narrowing his eyes at Sherlock and John.  The two men nodded and Lestrade replied with a sharp nod as well before he headed over to his other officers.  Once he was gone, Sherlock placed a hand on John’s lower back and gently guided him away from the scene.  As the two men were walking down the street, John looked down at Rosie.

         “Rosie?  How you feeling love?” he asked softly.  Rosie looked up at him, eyes bright and blue, not a sign of fear in them.

         “Fine Papa” she replied, her voice as sweet as a bell.  John smiled and nodded, hugging her to his chest before he looked over at Sherlock.

         “Did you—” he started when Sherlock shook his head.

         “No, I only healed her” he replied.  John hummed before he placed a gentle hand on top of her head, murmuring soft words under his breath and he soon felt Rosie relax, her body becoming heavier in his arms.

         “What did you do?” Sherlock asked.  John looked over at him and smiled slightly.

         “Just put her to sleep.  When she wakes up, she won’t ever remember getting shot” he declared.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

         “Is it safe to keep erasing our daughter’s memory of every bad thing that happens to her?” he asked.  John shook his head.

         “We won’t erase things that will help her grow, like if she skins her knee or accidentally burns herself.  But things like this?  Like her almost drowning or getting shot?  I don’t want her to remember that.  When she’s older and things like this happen, we won’t erase her memory.  We will help her through it, get her therapy if we need to.  But for right now, I will do my damndest to keep her as innocent for as long as possible” he promised.  Sherlock nodded.

         “I will do my best as well” he declared.  John smiled and leaned into the demon.

         “I know you will” he murmured.  Sherlock smiled fondly and moved his arm from John’s back to his other hip, pulling him closer.  The two supernatural beings continued down the road before Sherlock finally hailed a cab to take them back to Baker Street.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

A few days later, Lestrade informed both Sherlock and John that they would have willingly subscribed to that soup-plate medal of which the criminal had spoken, but an unappreciative bench took a less favorable view, and the Killer returned to the shades from which he had just emerged.  When they were told the news, Sherlock let out a growl while John just let out a deep sigh.  After a few moments of silence, John looked up at Sherlock.

         “Do you think we’ll see him again?” he asked softly, trying not to wake Rosie, who was curled up against him on the couch.  Sherlock looked down at his husband and smiled darkly, heterochromic eyes flicking to black.

         “If he’s smart, he wouldn’t dare cross our paths again” he growled.  John chuckled and shook his head.

         “Or if he’s stupid, he’ll try again” he replied.  Sherlock sighed and nodded as he walked over to John and sat down next to him.

         “Oh, I don’t think he’s that stupid.  Not unless he was a spear through his heart” he muttered as he wrapped an arm around John and pulled him close.  John nearly melted into the demon’s touch, resting his head against Sherlock’s chest.

         “I suppose.  At least we can rest for a little while before we get another case” he murmured.  Sherlock nodded as he rested his head on top of John’s, shutting his eyes.

         “Yes.  And Lord knows we could all use a few days of rest” he grumbled.  John chuckled softly as he carefully lifted Rosie into his lap, gently hugging her to him.  Rosie snuggled against him and clutched at his shirt, letting out a little noise of contentment.  John smiled sleepily as he finally shut his eyes, the three of them at peace as they rested, awaiting their next case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end of the Three Garridebs. I know this case was short, but I did say that the continuations of Living with a Demon would just be like short chaptered cases, not a full fledged story like Living with a Demon. But I hope you guys enjoyed this case and if you wish for me to write another case/story, please let me know in the comments! It could be any case, from seasons 2-4, if you wish, or some of the other Sherlock Holmes stories that are out there.
> 
> Please don't be afraid to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoy the continuation of the Living with a Demon series. If you have other cases that you wish for me to write about, just let me know in the comments and I will try to get to them. Please don't be afraid to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!
> 
> Also, I changed John Garrideb to James Garrideb because I would get confused if I had two Johns in one story.


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